I slipped through the inn's entrance, my footsteps silent against the wooden floors. The hallway stretched, dimly lit by a single oil lamp that cast dancing shadows on the walls. My muscles still carried the pleasant ache of my evening with Tsunami—the widow had been wonderfully receptive to my... diplomatic overtures.
I reached for the door handle to our shared room. Check on the brats, ensure they haven't burned the place down or gotten themselves killed, then slip out to have that negotiation with our former client.
The door creaked open.
A flash of pink caught my eye as Sakura rose abruptly from the bed, a little too fast for someone so visibly unsteady. Her long hair spilled around her shoulders in loose, uneven waves, the kind that only came from restless sleep—or something far more intense.
She still wore the same sleeveless red top, but her bottoms had been replaced with a dark, haphazard wrap tied low around her hips. The fabric swayed as she moved, clinging briefly to her thighs before letting go like it had trouble deciding whether to reveal or conceal.
Her bare feet landed softly on the wood, pale and delicate against the wooden floor, her knees wobbling just enough to tell. The slight sheen on her inner thighs—was it sweat, or her juice?—drew my gaze before I could help it.
Even after hours, she moved like a lost girl whose body hadn't quite caught up with her mind. Her eyes darted my way, but there was a flicker of disorientation in them; they still had a glazed, post-storm calm to them. Like she was still floating through aftershocks no one else could feel.
She hadn't fully recovered. I didn't know whether I should feel proud of my work or disappointed in her.
It seemed she hadn't brought with her a change that took into account her family's hereditary ability, I mused. Wonder if she wore any panties under there.
"Sensei!" Her voice carried a breathless quality that made my brow raise. "I wasn't…. you are back."
I stepped fully into the room, letting the door close behind me with a soft click. My gaze swept the space methodically—two beds, both rumpled, but only one recently occupied. Personal effects scattered about, but notably missing were the bright orange jacket that served as Naruto's calling card and Sai's art supplies.
"Where is Naruto?" The question came out sharper than intended. "Sai?"
They are not in the room. They have not been in the room.
Sakura's cheeks flushed, and she fidgeted with the edge of her improvised skirt. "I... well, you see... about earlier, sensei, I wanted to—"
"Sakura." I breathed out, cutting her off.
The girl blinked, clearly thrown by my tone. For a moment, her self-absorbed concern flickered into something resembling awareness of the actual situation. "Oh! They're... they are still training. You know how Naruto is— the idiot probably found some cliff to practice his new jutsu on. And Sai follows him just like you asked, so..." She waved a hand dismissively. "They're fine."
The casual dismissal in her voice made my jaw clench. They had not been back?
Oblivious to my worries, Sakura resumed her fidgeting, clearly eager to return to whatever confession she'd been building up to.
"Anyway, about what happened earlier..." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, and I could see the mortification written across her features, not meeting my irritated eyes. "I don't know what came over me. I'm not usually like that—the way I... responded to your t-training methods. I think it was just the stress of the mission, and I was so excited about becoming your student that I—"
Her words began to blur together as irritation crept up my lungs. Real irritation, not the calculated variety I typically employed to play her. This was genuine anger, building with each passing second of her self-centered rambling.
Training. She was still calling it training. That part was amusing, though, even if I hardly found myself amused.
Anger at Naruto for being reckless enough to wander off this late. Anger at Sai for not following basic protocol. Anger at myself for prioritizing my cock over my responsibilities. And mounting fury at the pink-haired genin before me, who seemed incapable of grasping the gravity of the situation.
I forced myself to take a measured breath. Perhaps I was the one taking things too seriously. Perhaps her casual attitude was the appropriate response to what amounted to a routine training exercise.
But was it?
The worry gnawing at my gut was valid. Justified. I'd been on countless missions, fought alongside more comrades than I cared to count, and buried far too many of them — figuratively, often times their bodies couldn't be salvaged.
"Ultimately, it was the overwhelming number and regularity of the casualties that previously drove me from fieldwork to pursue teaching, a predictable profession with a lower death rate.
This time was different. This time, the stakes couldn't be higher.
Naruto wasn't just the Hokage's son, though that alone would demand extra protection from any jounin in my position. As someone with knowledge of what was to come, I understood what he truly represented—the child of prophecy, the one destined to save the world.
But this wasn't the original timeline. Without the Nine-Tails sealed within him, I couldn't rely on plot armor to keep the little bastard alive. For all I knew, fate itself had gone off the rails.
If Naruto died on my watch...
"— and I just wanted you to know that I take my training very seriously, sensei, so if you want to continue helping me improve, I'm completely willing to—"
My hand moved, fingers closing around her jaw with practiced precision. The sudden contact cut off her rambling mid-sentence, her eyes widening in surprise.
For a heartbeat, she went rigid—muscles tensing like a rabbit caught in a snare. But then something shifted. Her shoulders relaxed, her breathing steadied, and she melted into my grip like warm honey settling into a spoon. The transformation was remarkable and disturbingly telling.
Good. She's learning.
That was pleasantly surprising and delightful. I expect her to turn back to her bratty behavior after she had time to process things. But it seemed my ministrations had more lovely effect on her genin mind than envisioned.
"I'll help you, alright," I said, my voice dropping to that particular tone I'd perfected over years of command. A tone she responded well to. "Let's start with your most glaring flaws, shall we?"
Her breath caught.
"First—your complete inability to prioritize. Here you are, obsessing over your wounded pride while your teammates are missing. Second—your narcissistic tendency to make everything about yourself, even potential danger. Third—" My thumb traced along her jawline, a gesture that could be mistaken for gentle if not for the steel in my grip. "Your chronic inability to know when silence serves you better than speech."
I may have been exaggerating, but there was something about Sakura that stirred my desire to assert control over her. I want to tame her and humble her every time she opens that wilful little mouth.
Her lips parted slightly, a protest forming, but I continued before she could voice it.
"As a shinobi, you're mediocre at best. Your taijutsu is adequate for a genin, but laughable for someone of your age. Your ninjutsu repertoire could fit on a single scroll with room to spare. And your tactical awareness..." I let out a soft laugh that held no humor. "Well, tonight's performance speaks for itself."
"I—I don't—that's not—" she stammered, her cheeks burning crimson.
I squeezed her cheeks together, cutting off her protests. The pressure pushed her lips forward into a perfect pout, full and pink and achingly inviting. They looked soft as silk, slightly parted and begging to be claimed. Heat shot through my lower abdomen at the sight, and for a moment I imagined covering those tempting lips with my own, tasting whatever remained of her earlier embarrassment.
Focus, Eishin.
"Shhhh," I shushed, dismissing the thought. "I've already taken you as my student. You're my responsibility now, which means I'll help you improve whether you like my methods or not. One embarrassing moment won't change that."
At the mention of her earlier... response, Sakura's face went nuclear. The blush blossoming from her cheeks to her neck and ears, and I could feel the heat radiating from her skin like she might spontaneously combust in my hand. Her eyelashes fluttered shut as if she could hide from the memory through sheer force of will.
Adorable. And so very easy to play.
The urge to push further, to watch her squirm under more detailed recollection of how she'd writhed and gasped and soaked herself, was almost overwhelming. But that could wait.
"That embarrassing moment," I continued, my voice gentling slightly, "showed me who you really are beneath all the posturing. The real Sakura Haruno—honest, vulnerable, willing to learn. It only makes me more determined to…. teach you properly."
I tilted her head up roughly, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her pretty green eyes were wide and uncertain. Beautiful and deep and completely out of her depth.
"There will be many more embarrassing moments like that in the future. Moments from which you will learn and improve," I told her, letting each word sink in. "I'll make sure of it. Do you understand?"
She stared up at me, pupils slightly dilated, and began to nod automatically. Then she caught herself, remembering my past lessons I implicitly drilled in her about verbal responses.
"I... I understand, sensei," she whispered.
Ahh, finally. My blood sang. Finally. She was finally ripe and ready. With the mission coming to an end….
"Good…." I breathed out, trying to clear my mind and calm my heart. I watched her eyes flutter at the words, only to shift to a confusing disappointment at the incomplete words. "You may be stubborn, but you can still learn."
I released her face and stepped back. She remained standing in place, not retreating to a safe distance as most would. Instead, she lowered her head, chin nearly touching her chest. I raised an eyebrow.
Is she asking for a head pat?
I smiled and turned toward my pack instead. "Only good girls get head pats," I said over my shoulder.
"I am a…. I'm doing my best!" The words burst out of her with indignant heat. "I've been following your instructions and training hard with the card you gave me, and—and I haven't complained once about your methods even when they were weird and—"
"Sakura." My voice cut through her protest. I thought I had been harsh on her, but now I was thinking if I had spoiled her.
She fell silent immediately.
"I'm going to collect our wayward teammates and drag them back here where they belong. You're staying put. Not a toe outside this room. Get some sleep; it's late." I grabbed my pack, checking that my jutsu tags and scrolls were there. The merchant would require a delicate touch, and I wanted my full arsenal available. I would give him a visit after kicking those two idiot here.
"But sensei, what if—"
"What if you demonstrated that newfound discipline by following orders without question?" I paused at the door, glancing back with a sharp smile. "Consider it homework."
The door closed behind me with a soft click, leaving her sputtering protests trapped in our room.
I made my way through the town's rooftops, muscle memory guiding me toward the rocky shores where I'd last seen the two idiots. The night air carried the salt tang of the ocean, and somewhere in the distance, waves crashed against stone with rhythmic persistence.
Reaching the shoreline, I ran through the familiar hand seals.
"Ninja Art: Wolf Clone Technique."
The jutsu took nearly a full fucking second longer than usual to manifest. My chakra felt sluggish, like thick honey instead of flowing water. I clicked my tongue in irritation as the wolf materialized.
Five times with Tsunami. Hum. Definitely overdid it.
I would still have gone for a sixth had she been able to keep up.
The wolf clone's nose twitched once before it bounded into the forest beyond the shore. I followed at a steady pace.
I had been lucky, I realized as we neared the mark.
I'd gotten lucky with Tsunami—a dutiful widow eager enough to follow me back to Konoha when this mission concluded. And Sakura's conditioning was progressing beautifully; she'd fully embraced the student-teacher dynamic without questioning the obvious complications it presented. Hell, she'd probably rationalize away any affair her mother might have with me.
But luck was a finite resource.
Up ahead, the sounds of combat shattered the peaceful night. Not the controlled clash of training exercises, but the chaotic symphony of an actual fight—steel meeting steel, the crack of splintering wood, and the low rumble of earth-shaking jutsu.
My easy pace became a sprint and then shunshin.
Luck was finite indeed, and I was running out of it.
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